A Long Night
by R.C.C
Summary: A job goes wrong in North Yankton and Michael and Trevor have to share a bed for the night. Pre-game. (One-shot. Rated for Language)


"Shit, shit, shit!" Michael alternated gasping and cursing, as he and his partner in crime sprinted down an alleyway. They both ran with their guns in their hands, Michael hugging his rifle and Trevor waving his shotgun, for heavy duffel bags weighed down their backs. "This is the fucking last time we rob a fucking gun store, T!"

"Bahbahbahbah, M, just keep running!" Trevor yelled as they neared a street corner. They each slid up against the walls, peering in opposite directions. Snow fell more heavily now, though it never really seemed to do anything else in this state. Only the snowdrifts seemed to occupy the street as most parking spots stood empty. It might have had something to do with the local police barreling down the roads with loudspeakers directing people indoors, for there were armed robbers about. "Clear," Trevor called.

"Clear," Michael added and they bolted out of the alleyway. They made it across the road into a construction site when they heard the wail of the sirens. "Fuck, fucking fuck!" Michael yelled as they sprinted anew, not pausing to see if they'd been spotted.

"If you spent all the energy you used cursing on fucking running we'd be gone by now, sugar tits!" Trevor barked as they wove between stacks of lumber and heavy machinery.

"Bite me!" Michael spat, still gasping. Miniature white clouds billowed out of his mouth with every breath. "If you're so fucking fast why don't ya just fucking go and leave?"

"Shut it and run! We ain't leaving anybody else but the cops," Trevor yelled as he barreled past a crate, which Michael climbed over hastily after him. They exited the construction site without the luxury of cover to spot from, and immediately regretted it.

Shots rang out from the nearest intersection and Michael stumbled. "Fuck!"

Trevor didn't need to turn to see Michael had been hit: he felt a warm spray spread across his cheek and the back of his neck shortly before Michael stumbled into his back. They fell in a tangle of guns, limbs, and duffel bags. "Shit, Mikey?! Talk to me!" Trevor reached behind him and tried to get to his feet. He didn't look back, instead trying to identify where the shots had come from. The sun was setting behind the modest skyline, back-lighting a cluster of sheriff's vehicles at the second intersection.

"I can make it! Go, go!" Michael shouted in his ear, and Trevor ducked into another alley. He spun around, grabbing for Michael with one hand and aiming his shotgun with the other. Michael stumbled forward and into the alley with the help of Trevor's guiding hand. Blood already stained the left shoulder of his tan jacket. Michael saw Trevor eying the growing red patch, and he grabbed the other man's shoulder with his good arm. "I can make it," he reiterated.

"Let's go, we don't got time to waste, sugar tits," Trevor responded and they were off down the alleys again.

They ducked behind snow covered cars and dumpsters, darted through snow drifts, and waded through piles of mush, running from the sirens, and hiding from the lights. "Here, in here," Trevor said, motioning towards a dilapidated old row house. He kicked down the boarded up door and entered muzzle first. Michael followed, backing in, holding his rifle with only his right hand, barely able to point it above the ground by now. Trevor pushed a sideways armoire out of the way and ran up the stairs as best he could, given half of them were missing. He burst through the door at the top of the stairs and swept his gun through, shifting his aim from the broken lamp, to a dirty table covered in newspapers and broken glasses, to a three legged chair. He snarled and stomped down the hallway. Michael just then started up the stairs, panting, his sweat doing him more harm than good in the cold. Trevor stepped over an overturned trash can and pushed open another door, revealing a browned bathroom. The curtain rack hung diagonally, held up by what couldn't have been more than a pair of screws, and he couldn't tell what color the tiles was supposed to be. Irrelevant. He stormed to the last door and opened it, greeted by a scream.

"Jesus," Michael's own exclamation wasn't far behind as he topped the stairs and aimed his rifle past his partner.

A shirtless man in ratty jeans rolled off a girl in her underwear; she kept screaming and the man scrambled backwards like some absurd crab.

"Shut the fuck up! Shut - the fuck - up!" Trevor shouted. The man plastered himself against the wall, his eyes so wide they looked like pink golf balls scratched to the red core. The girl kept screaming. "I said-" Trevor started but couldn't finish as Michael half ran half fell in front of him. His good hand still grasping his rifle, he brought his other hand, covered in rivulets of blood, to cover the girl's mouth.

"Now, you two are going to do us a big favor, yea?" he started, "Now I'm going to reach in my pocket and give you a present okay? Promise not to scream?" he asked and the girl, her matted hair covering half her face nodded her head. "Okay then," Michael whispered and removed his hand. She didn't scream, instead looking like she was devouring her own bottom lip. The man for the most part, sat stock still, Trevor's shotgun trained on his heaving, concave chest. Michael took a couple of bills out of his pocket and offered them to the girl. "You're gonna go someplace and get as drunk, or high, or fucked as you want, and you're gonna forget you ever saw us, you understand?"

The girl only stared for maybe a split second, before she snatched the cash and left as fast as her meatless legs could carry her. "Hey!" Michael called after her, but the man bowled him over before he could get anything else out. Michael crashed into the closet with a fit of obscenities, which Trevor echoed.

"Shit! Fucking cocksucker!" he yelled, spinning back around to the hallway. He pulled the trigger and his shotgun exploded square into the retreating man's back. "See how you like it from behind, eh?!" Trevor called as the man fell to the ground.

"Jesus Christ, T," Michael scolded, picking himself back up. He crawled to the window and peered out. He then slid into a sitting position, onto the bare mattress in front of the window, and held up a discarded pair of pants and a jacket. "That girl's gonna be mighty cold without these," he said and the two stared at each other for a moment, just breathing heavy. But then Michael cracked a grin and started laughing, breathy at first, but by the time Trevor joined in, it was hearty. Desperate and exhausted, but hearty. Trevor sat down at the foot of the mattress, glancing back at the hallway at the late past occupant of the room.

"You didn't fall on nothing sharp there, did you, bro?" Trevor asked, returning his gaze to Michael. He realized he was beginning to have a hard time distinguishing what shape was his friend and what was the wall; it was getting dark. "Nothing… Pointy?"

"No, T," Michael said, and shimmied himself back up into a kneeling position, looking out the window. "Nothing but the tip of your scathing wit, at least," he added and Trevor snorted, an extra large puff of white coming from his nostrils. "I think we lost 'em," Michael reported, still peering out the window. His breath was still coming in short gulps, the mirth gone. "I think, I think," he stuttered and Trevor reached forward, getting on his hands and knees and pulling Michael away from the window.

"If you don't get back from there, that may prove false, cupcake," Trevor warned and rocked back, letting Michael catch himself.

"I think they got Adam."

"Of course they got fucking Adam. That cock sucking son of a bitch took off and ran the wheels into a drift! I hope the car caught on fire and the cops cut him into tiny little pieces to get him out," Trevor said, punctuating the sentiment by spitting in the corner.

"Jesus Christ, T," Michael repeated, exhaling an extra large cloud of white.

"Whatever, he was a smelly prick anyway. Knew something was off about him. Wouldn't even go drinking with us!" Trevor waved a hand and lifted the duffel strap over his head, letting the bag drop to the ground with a clunk. Michael tried to do the same, but he hissed and contorted his face when he lifted his left arm. "Bahbahbahbah, slow down there, princess," Trevor chided. He put down his shotgun and crawled forward.

"Woah, hey," Michael exclaimed as Trevor grabbed the strap and pulled it over Michael's head.

"You," Trevor proclaimed, "were shot." He may have been kneeling, but he was still a good couple inches taller than his slumped partner.

"Guilty as charged," Michael replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender, though he wouldn't raise his left much higher that his midsection. He immediately dropped them to a more defensible position however when Trevor shambled closer. "Hey!"

"Let me see it, let me see it, let me see it!" Trevor said, grabbing at Michael who leaned farther and farther to the side to evade his partner's grasp.

"No, hey, get off!" Michael said, his tone of voice escalating as Trevor continued to paw at his jacket, almost pinning him to the wall. But they both went silent when the chopping sound of a helicopter drew closer. Their breath mingled in the air, as the cutting of chopper blades got louder and louder. Neither dared speak, or move. Michael's eyes widened as a spotlight illuminated Trevor's face through the window, but they still didn't budge, and for a moment, he wasn't sure the light would either. But it did.

The two almost immediately collapsed in a pile with synchronized relieved sighs, but whatever relief Michael felt was quickly replaced by the irrefutable stabbing pain in his shoulder, as Trevor accidentally elbowed it. "Fuck!" Michael couldn't stop the pained, less than manly squeal. Trevor retreated.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he shouted his apology as only he could.

"it's alright!" Michael shouted right back, clutching his shoulder. "Just, you sit over there and and I dunno! Just stay over there!"

"Mikey," Trevor said, his very voice prodding.

"Don't 'Mikey' me," Michael replied.

"Mikey," Trevor continued, somewhere between stern and teasing. "We should probably uh treat the wound you know," he said, "make sure it's not still bleeding."

"If you think I'm gonna take my coat off in this fucking cold-ass crack house, you must be crazier than I thought!" Michael said, hugging himself.

"Alright, alright! It's not like I was telling you to get naked," Trevor said, grabbing the discarded coat. Michael stared at the dark shapes in front of him warily.

"What are you doin'?" he asked, as Trevor stretched the coat out in front of him, holding it up to catch what light came in the window. A lady's trench coat of some sort. No idea what color.

"If you're not gonna strip we're just gonna have to wrap it tight on top of your clothing," he explained, making the coat snap when he pulled it tight a couple times.

"With that?" Michael's voice cracked with incredulity. "You gotta be kiddin' me?"

"Well excuse me, sugar tits, I didn't bring any sterile bandages, because I didn't think anybody was going to get shot," Trevor responded, his voice as level as it got. But he did put the trench coat down and instead took off his own. Michael sighed.

"T, what are you doing?" Michael asked again. Trevor yanked his shirt that had once been white over his head and held it up inches from Michael's face.

"This or the trench coat, pick one," he stated and Michael stared for a moment before nodding to the article in his hand.

"Uh, shit, the shirt, I guess. At least I know where that's been, mostly."

Trevor just chuckled darkly and began tearing his shirt into strips. Michael could really only see the outline of his partner, but he swore he saw steam rising from him, in addition to the condensation of his breath.

"Bro, come on, you don't have to," Michael protested, "it doesn't even really hurt anymore. I"ll be fine," but soon enough Trevor was over him again, this time immobilizing his left arm and wrapping the scripts of shirt around his shoulder, under his arm and around his chest. "You're gonna fucking freeze, bro" Michael said through clenched teeth.

"Nope, warm blooded, my brother," Trevor replied and Michael let him finish without complaining again. Trevor finished, let Michael go, and sat back down. He stared at his and the girl's coats on the mattress for a moment before shrugging and putting on the girl's coat. The sleeves split apart as he forced his arms in them, and the buttons wouldn't reach around his broad chest, so he just tied it. After determining exactly what Trevor was doing, Michael put a hand to his forehead.

"Oh Jesus."

"What? Waste not, want not," Trevor replied as he pulled his coat over the train wreck of a trench coat.

"Sure, okay, whatever, man," Michael shook his head. "So now what?"

"I dunno, you're the brains of the operation," Trevor said, quoting with his fingers in the air. Michael waved him off.

"Well, our escape strategy is hosed," Michael stated.

"I coulda told you that," Trevor laughed.

"The cops will probably be swarming for a good couple hours… The snow should cover our tracks… I guess this is as good a hiding place as any… Could use some damn heat though," Michael listed and Trevor ambled forward, shooing Michael to move over.

"Give those hamsters in you brain a rest and lie down," Trevor ordered, slapping the mattress.

"What?"

"Lie down!" Trevor repeated, "What am I supposed be be? A broken record? We're huddling for warmth, sweet cheeks."

"Oh Jesus," was all Michael said as Trevor pulled him down backwards into what could really only be described as a bear hug. After a moment of analyzing that it was in fact Trevor's breath on is neck, Michael said "Don't you start whispering shit in my ear, bro, or I'll…"

"You'll what? Faint or turn around and give me a big wet kiss?" Trevor taunted.

"Just shut up and go to sleep okay? We need to be moving before it gets light again, got me?" Michael said, moving his elbows in an attempt to loosen Trevor's grasp around him.

"Oh, I got you," Trevor replied and paused. Michael just sighed and stopped wiggling. Trevor lifted his head up a tad, trying to look at Michael but it was too dark. Instead he just breathed on his face, causing Michael to start writhing again. "You sure you're gonna be alright there, Mikey? You ain't gonna bleed out on me or nothing?"

"God fucking damn it, just how I wanted to die: held by you in a crack house. No, I'm not gonna bleed out, now go to sleep," Michael said in an exasperated outburst.

Trevor laid back down and the two were still for a moment, just breathing and listening to the house creak in the wind and the distant sound of sirens outside.

Trevor perked back up again, peering over Michael, "You're sure?"

"I'm sure, I'm sure, I'm fucking sure just please, for the love of God, go to sleep," Michael replied, desperation intensifying his voice.

"Okay, you don't have to bite a guy's face off for caring," Trevor said, leaning back and getting comfortable. However, he didn't relinquish his grip around his partner's torso.

"Look, I'm sorry, T, just go to sleep, please?" Michael almost begged.

"What do you think I'm doin'? Nighty night, cupcake."

Michael sighed and settled in for a long, interesting night. "Goodnight, T."


End file.
